“My husband,” I breathe back. “I love you madly. So very much.”
He groans, snatches me closer, and when he kisses me it is absolute, unapologetic possession. But it is also something else now, something steadier beneath the heat.
An unbending promise.
The celebrant clears his throat softly behind us, an older man Caterina has procured with her usual competence, dressed simply, respectfully, as if he understands that what is happening here is not performance or spectacle, but an overdue reckoning.
A choice.
Giovanni takes his time to lift his head, and when we turn to face our small audience, he doesn’t let go of my hand. His thumb stays at my pulse, as if he needs to feel the proof of me.
“We are gathered,” the celebrant says gently, “to renew vows made almost two years ago. Vows that have been tested, strained, but survived.”
Giovanni’s jaw tightens. His gaze never leaves mine.
“Do you, Giovanni Dragoni, take Lucia Dragoni again, not in power, not as possession alone, but as deliberate choice?”
His answer is immediate, rough with truth. “I take her,” he says. “In full. In honesty. In the light.”
My breath catches and hot tears prickle my eyes.
“And do you, Lucia Dragoni, take Giovanni Dragoni again, not as a cage, not as a war, but as a life?”
I lift my chin, tears burning. “I take him,” I whisper. “With my eyes open. In the deepest love. And with no more running.”
The celebrant nods once. “Then speak your vows.”
Giovanni’s fingers tighten around mine. He lifts our tangled fingers between us.
Then he takes a chest-shaking breath. “The moment I saw you,” he begins, voice low, devastating, “I knew my life had shifted. You looked at me like I was a man before I was a name. You fought me like you did not believe I was inevitable.” His throat works. “I thought love meant control. I thought silence was protection. I was wrong.”
His gaze sharpens. “So I vow this: you will never again have only parts of me. You’ll have all of me, Lucia. The man, the truth, the cost. And I will spend my life earning the fact that you stayed.”
My heart feels too full and I swallow hard. “The moment I saw you,” I echo, voice trembling, “I thought you were danger. I thought you were everything my father warned me about.”
Giovanni stills.
“And you were,” I admit softly, a small smile breaking through. “But you were also the first man who looked at me like I mattered more than fear.” My hands rise to his face. “I ran because I was terrified of loving you. Terrified of what it would cost.” I breathe in, steadying myself. “But I am done being terrified.”
His eyes darken.
“I vow to stay,” I whisper. “Because I see you clearly at last. Because you’re my home, and I choose you.”
The celebrant exhales, almost moved despite himself. “Then it is done,” he says. “Renewed. Reclaimed. Sealed.”
Giovanni’s voice drops. “Pi l’eternità, mia mugghieri.”
I smile through tears. “Forever, my love,” I echo.
Behind us, Ella makes a choked sound that might be a sob. My uncles clap fiercely, awkwardly, as if they are applauding survival itself. Caterina mutters something in Sicilian that sounds suspiciously like finally.
Giovanni turns his head sharply. “That’s enough from you,nannuzza,” he growls, though there is no real bite in it.
Caterina tosses her head. “I’m far too young to be anyone’s granny. But make some babies and I might allow it.”
Ella grins. “Oh, nice!”
“Go,” Giovanni orders, already impatient to have me to himself. “I want to be alone with my wife.”
